


Wire-Crossing

by cuntoid



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Breeding Kink, Daddy Kink, F/M, Jealous Rick, Possessive Rick, Restraints, reader has a motherfuckin cyborg arm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: Reader has an advanced prosthetic that Rick never knew about. He teaches you a lesson you won't forget.





	Wire-Crossing

**Author's Note:**

> Archive warning for violence involving a hyper-advanced prosthetic arm. A finished commission for a very lovely cyborg.

"So, this planet... will it be like that gear planet?"

Rick throws you a look so acidic it could burn through several gear planets, scoffing as he rolls his eyes back to the proverbial road. 

"Uh, _no_ , th-that - where did you even make that fucking connection? I said we were going to a planet full of _androids_ and, and cyborgs and shit. You know, I have no fucking clue w-why I even take you anywhere."

You smile and reach over to trace a wrinkle in his coat sleeve, stealing a brief glance when he turns your way.

"You know why."

Rick smirks and catches your hand, playing idly with your fingers before bringing them up to brush against his lips while strands of passing nebulae reflect in his eyes. His lips are softer than one might think, uncharacteristically kind as he kisses the tips of your fingers and takes one gently between his teeth. 

"You're an insufferable little shit." He gives your thumb a nip before returning your hand. Blood rushes underneath your skin, staining your cheeks with pleasant heat as Rick sighs a little laugh. The sound of it makes you shift in your seat. He guides the ship steadily toward a new planet and the chance to climb atop Rick's lap to grind against his cock wanes as you hurtle through the atmosphere, seeking a landing spot. He turns to you and grins, looking straight through you and seemingly into the depraved, urgent fantasies playing out in your mind. His lids slide down his clever eyes and he bites his lip. " _F-Fuck..._ you're too easy."

This playful banter carries on through his errands, meeting up with people - beings? Robots? - to both pick up and drop off various technologies and items. The legality of what he's doing is, as always, dubious at best; but it's nice to catch Rick in such a good mood, prattling on mindlessly about inventions he'd turned for profit here in the past. 

During his stories, it's easy to zone out and enjoy his company. It gives you a chance to scope out the landscape, the architecture, all startlingly familiar. The inhabitants are the things that keep your attention; you can intuitively tell which are cyborgs and which are androids, which are robots and which are simply machines. The androids and cyborgs alike eye you with faint interest. A short man with bionic legs gives you a knowing smile and nods. A woman with identical android triplets passes by, the three little girls giggling and whispering. The more time you spend on this planet, the stronger you feel connected to it, to its life. You have the aching urge to reach out and touch a woman with soft, glowing white eyes and a gorgeous custom hand. She smiles shyly to herself and hurries by, fingers flexing. 

"Hey, kid, look - look alive, this is our last, uh... appointment. So to speak. His name's, uh.. 911918, but everyone just calls him 29. Be cool for a minute, be quiet, and - and Daddy will reward you when we get home. Got it?"

"This isn't safe, is it? Are we -"

"Baby girl, wh-what'd I just say? Be good, I mean it. Shut that pretty mouth. Come on."

The man you approach is unnervingly tall, towering over Rick with slicked-back hair and a beard, pulling a glimmering sachet from within the pocket of his suit jacket. He smiles a little too wide and the pull of the uncanny valley becomes worse, 29 reaching down to pluck a folded stack of bills from Rick's hand. He presses the sachet into his empty palm and closes his fingers around it, engulfing Rick's fist with his own. He rakes his eyes over you as Rick clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Who is your companion, Rick? I'm not familiar with this one."

"Wow, imagine that, huh? Unfamiliar with a - with a human being from thousands of light-years away, on a planet a fraction of the size of yours but with double the population. Inconceivable. A real fuckin' brain teaser." Rick yanks his hand back to no avail, 29's grip unyielding and focus only on you. "Jesus, not much for jokes, huh?"

"It's not in my programming to dabble in pointless interaction. You bore me, Rick. What doesn't bore me is your friend - tell me, hybrid child, is this the standard of biotech on Earth?"

He releases Rick to stroke the ball of your left shoulder, edging down the sleeve of your shirt. His eyes focus in on you, whirring softly as they adjust. Rick crosses his own arms and gives 29 another once-over, dissecting him, figuring out his angle. You've been on the other end of this look a few times yourself; you can practically hear the gears turning in Rick's mind. Rick gestures at you with a jerky hand and scoffs.

"Biotech? Thought you said you don't do jokes. I-I think you were right, pal, stick to your day job. A-Are we - are we finished here?"

"Jokes - the crutch of a nervous man. I'm not going to pluck your pretty little flower, Rick." 29 bends down to your eye level and you force yourself to be still. The urge to touch him is nearly overwhelming. You want to feel his false skin, compare it to your own, ask about his programming, his maker, his processes and purpose, you want to open him up and stroke the wires, circuits and gears. You're afraid of him. You're afraid of the person (organic or otherwise) who _made_ him. He smiles and it doesn't come close to reaching his eyes, focusing so intently on the length of your arm that you're positive he's looking through it, stroking his gaze along all of the hidden components. "I know the person that made this. I've seen their work before - you're a lucky little halfling."

Rick grabs you, breaking the spell of 29's unnerving gaze and pulling you away from his touch. He holds you closely and tightens his grip around your wrist, hellbent on keeping you from escaping his side as he glares at 29. 

"Good doing business with you, y-you fucking refurbished stereo system piece of shit. Fuck you, see you n-never."

As he tugs you away, you steal a glance behind you at 29 as he straightens up to his full height and smirks. He leaves you with a slow wink before you turn back to Rick, brimming with questions and concerned about the situation. Rick looks ahead with his jaw set. The air around you goes thin the longer you watch the lines around his mouth deepen in a frown, as you notice a rapid butterfly pulse in his temple. 

"Rick -"

"No talking. Not yet."

He squeezes your wrist for emphasis and you tug it away from him. He grinds to a halt and lifts his brow, holding his hand out expectantly. He takes a steadying breath. You have never wanted more to sink into the ground and disappear, to bombard him with questions, to be an insolent little brat and demand an explanation. 

Instead, you lace your fingers with his and ignore how this simple, affectionate act makes you feel better, despite the knowledge that Rick is only allowing you this privilege in return for your obedience. It feels good to squeeze his fucking hand once in a while. 

The ride home is blanketed in silence. Every attempt you make at conversation is rebuffed until he snaps at you to shut up. Once parked and inside the home, he ensures that the two of you are all alone before herding you back into the garage and down into his lab. The trap door above you hisses as it lowers back into place. You follow Rick with your eyes as he sighs and wheels a surgical table to the center of the room, gesturing at it.

"Hop on."

"Rick..."

"Listen, kid, y-you're getting on this fucking table. Whether you do it on your own or not is ultimately up to you, but if - if I were in your position, I'd consider it in my best interest to just do what I'm fucking told."

"What are you going to do?"

Rick ignores your question in favor of giving you one last look, narrowing his eyes as he raps the surface of the table with his knuckle. When you approach, he holds you at arm's length with his big, warm hands gripping tight, and the intensity of his stare is enough to silence all the things you want to spit at him, questions you want answers to. 

"Strip for me. No - no funny business. Just sit that bare ass down for Daddy."

The table feels icy on your back, goosebumps sprouting over the expanse of your body. His eyes linger on your trembling form as he lays you down, sighing heavily and tugging restraints up from underneath the corners to shackle you - all but one limb. He strokes your arm and pinches down hard, rolling his eyes at your yelping and bending to examine the redness of your skin, study its elasticity. 

"What the fuck, Rick? That hurts!"

"In-interesting, but even a fucking Morty could build _that_ kind of tech." He turns to gather tools - most of them look surgical. "So when were you planning on telling me, huh?"

"I don't know, does it matter? What are you doing? Rick?? What the fuck are you -"

Rick spins around and lets the majority of his supplies clatter onto a wheeled overbed table, topped with stainless steel compartments that show heavy signs of wear. The grim reality of what Rick might be doing in his private time hovers over you, mind swirling with all the sickening possibilities as he chooses what looks like a hacksaw on steroids. The saw itself is gone, handle outfitted with sleek purple metals and golden tendrils that wrap around the prongs of the saw. When Rick presses a switch, the metal hums and a glittering laser buzzes between the prong's edges, like spun gold from a children's story.

"I-I'll tell you two things I dislike, babe," he intones. He looks focused in a way you haven't seen before, ominously calm and resigned to whatever he's about to do to you. "I don't like it when my girl is dishonest with me, an-and I _definitely_ don't like someone else's fucking _junk_ inside of her."

" _Rick, wait -_ "

"You - you've got nobody to blame but yourself, sweetie, re-remember that. Should've kept yourself honest." He grabs a strap that feels like leather when he pushes it gingerly between your teeth, grabbing your chin to hold your attention. His eyes bore into you. "This is going to hurt. It's going to hurt _a lot_."

That's all the preparation you get - he trains his focus on your arm and swings the hacksaw so that it slices cleanly through synthetic flesh and parts the various wires and metals and gears, tiny alien motors and parts too foreign to name. Agony shoots through every synchronized nerve ending in the stump of your arm, racing through the flayed mechanical remains to form a whole new kind of pain you hadn't imagined possible. It feels like liquid lightning. It feels so goddamn awful that you writhe against the bonds and scream through your clenched teeth, biting so hard into the leather that you're deliriously convinced you'll bite it in half. 

Rick grunts and gives the raw, spitting components a tap that sends a blunt bolt of pain up through the ball of your shoulder, jolting over your collarbone. An acrid smell fills your nose, like burning oil, like pennies and battery acid. Rick turns to retrieve a bolt cutter whose blades glow and gives it some test clicks. He's indifferent to your pain or how it feels like a dream, a _nightmare,_ something you never should have known as a human being. A special pain reserved for this advanced extraterrestrial technology - the proverbial gift of the gods. You feel as though you're reaping the punishment for blind vanity, the audacity to question your natural form and alter it the way you see fit. 

"N-Not even my mods can cut some of these wires. They - they're coated in something I don't immediately recognize. We, uh, need some brute force... I gotta say, I'm reluctantly impressed. Keep biting down."

The bolt cutter feels worse. Your only train of though revolves around the fact that at some point, he'll have severed everything and the artificial pain receptors will fizzle out. When it finally happens, the change is so dramatic that the relief makes you sob, body shaking with the aftermath of this torture. He drops the gutted shell of your beautiful arm to the floor.

"From here on out, if you need something put inside this pretty little body, you - you come to _me_. You say, _Daddy, please cut me apart and build me a shiny new arm_. If, if you'd done that to begin with, I wouldn't have to give you a fucking hardware upgrade without any pain meds."

"Th-there's medication...?"

Rick runs his thumb down your cheek and clucks his tongue, bending to press a kiss to your forehead. He traces a line down your jaw and throat, no sign of stopping as he inches down your nude, twitching form. He glances down as he slides his hand between your thighs and tests a fingertip over your slit. His eyes darken and you admire the lines of his face. Despite everything, your anger and pain at the mercy of his arrogance, despite your vulnerability, you think instead about how you wish you could straddle his smirk.

"There are, baby, but bad little girls don't get any. You need to feel every second. Learn your lesson." He slides a single long finger just inside of your slit, teasing your opening and dragging the curve of his knuckle over your clit. "Th-that's not _all_ you need, is it? Does this excite you? You - you fucking soak yourself when Daddy takes you apart?"

You sniffle and buck your hips, chest hitching. The hate you feel for him is overridden only by the heat gathering where he teases a second finger inside. Stimulation wins out as your body claws for a chance to forget the agony of a few minutes ago and you whimper for him, begging through your sore throat for him to keep going. He laughs humorlessly and angles his fingers to beckon against your G-spot, stroking until your thighs shake with new purpose.

"You're mine. Every inch of you belongs to me and - and I decide what's good enough to be inside of you. Isn't that right?"

"Y-yes, Daddy..."

"Very good - look how obedient you are once I introduce a little pain. Fuck - I-I gotta make sure you know who owns you, don't I?" 

Rick frees your ankles and climbs over the table between your thighs, fumbling with his belt and cursing under his breath. It feels like a dream; you keep willing your arm to move and feel the weight of universes in its place, a vast empty space you no longer control. As usual, Rick is the only one left with any control. 

His first thrust burns as it forces you open, his hands skating around your hips and hefting you up by your ass to provide him better access. He hunches over you like you're his kill, splayed out and helpless, impaled on his thick, unforgiving cock. The way he drags it down the tight walls of your cunt just to ram it back inside, pounding up against your tender cervix - he smiles, leaning down to grab your throat and squeeze. Your cries dry up into thin, high-pitched whines. 

"Some-sometimes you gotta hurt to learn, little girl." He bites down on the juncture of your throat and shoulder, bucking his hips hard enough that you can hear the wet slapping of your bodies, as if you're not already struggling to breathe. He growls and twists his free hand up into the raw tangle of wires. The residual pain is sharp, slicing up through the quieting static of your brain and tensing every muscle in your body. Rick rides against it, determined to teach you this sadistic lesson. He unlatches his teeth and frees your throat to let you scream, reveling in your begging, your flushed face and parted lips.

"Good girl, good girl - y-you gunna cum? You gunna cum for Daddy? You'd better wait until I fill you up. You're gunna take _aalll this cum_ , as deep as I can f-fucking shoot it. I'm gunna put a baby inside of you - hm? Yeah? You want that?"

You contract down on him like you mean to keep him inside of you forever. A sick, furious need for him to do this to you overwhelms the last sparks of pain in your arm, the splitting ache of him between your legs, and you moan his name in your broken, tear-choked voice. 

"P-leeaaase, Rick - Daddy! Daddy, _please_." 

"There's my girl. God _damnit_ you're tight - you want my cum? You want my seed deep in that hot little pussy? Think about how swollen you'll be with my fucking kid. Everyone will know you're mine, that you bounce on _my_ cock. You'll stay with me and raise my child and give me more if I want you to - your cunt's mine to fill up. You're my woman, my property, and if you step out of line, I will fucking _find you. Always._ "

"Jesus _Christ_ -"

"N-no, sweet thing, it's _Daddy_." Rick's chuckle melts into a guttural moan and his hips pick up the pace, following your lead as you tense around him. "Remember your fucking manners and - and _ask me_ for permission."

"Please, Daddy? Please - _fuckfuckfuck_ PLEASE l-let me cum, can I, _c-can I_ -"

"Fucking do it, baby, good - good girl. God, you - you ready for Daddy's cum? Take it, take all of me, _fuck_ , so _tight_..."

Each hard throb of his cock sparks a new wave of pleasure, raking over your overstimulated nerves like glass, like fire, ebbing and flowing with your combined breaths. For a moment you feel utter satisfaction, a certain freedom with handing yourself so completely to Rick. He rises up from nuzzling your throat and kisses your forehead again before dismounting you and the table. 

He pulls his slacks back on and gives himself a little shake. There isn't much time for him to be soft, as it isn't his way - but as he gathers some supplies, he pauses to stroke your cheek or murmur comforting little nothings; _you're so good for me. Daddy's gunna give you such a pretty new arm, baby, a better arm, something good enough for _MY_ girl._ You cry a little and he wipes your tears away, administering something nice into your bloodstream before he continues his work. 

It's minute or hours or days - the drugs turn everything into a pocket of time that can't decide how long it is, floating weightlessly through the space of your mind and blanketing you in warm comfort. Your arm is rebuilt when you finally come down, and Rick's wearing a smug half-smile decorated in blood and oil and booze. You reach to him on instinct and find yourself free of all restraints. Your bionic arm looks almost the same, but _feels_ different, more... organic. It feels right. You test the fingers and he excitedly shows you its capabilities, secret functions he's hidden at your fingertips and wrist, screens and maps and holographic communication systems. He preens and prattles for several minutes while you test some of the new features of your body. 

Rick finally strokes down your admittedly superior limb and pulls you to your shaky legs. His arm is strong around your ribs as he holds you up and leads you out of the lab.

"Okay, little thing. Come let Daddy clean you up."


End file.
